


Eat Your Heart Out

by foolsdiamond



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Additional tags pending, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, explicit sexual content planned, genji shimada as a reference and not as a character, rating pending, slowburn au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-10 00:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsdiamond/pseuds/foolsdiamond
Summary: Hanzo Shimada is running a food truck around town, making himself popular as he pays the bills.  One evening, he graciously donates a free bowl to a handsome Jesse McCree and like feeding a lost cat, he has a new devoted follower forever.  Every interaction leaves an impression on him, until the night Jesse finally drops his phone number into the tip jar... ;)Updates on Fridays!





	1. ACT 1

**Author's Note:**

> 11 chapters planned, with chapters 9 and 10 being designated for explicit/adult scenes. They're bonus content, and aren't necessary to enjoy the full story.

The moon crept into stars as the last rays of sun faded below the mountains.  Hanzo waved off the last customers of the day as they drove away satisfied. He pulled the tip jar with him to the driver’s seat for the most appreciated break he had received all day to count his surplus.  One, two, three, four… Another successful night, with the perishable supplies in his truck completely depleted, and enough dry to last the week.

Hanzo organized the bills, folded flat, faces aligned, and properly sorted, then stuffed them into the cash box and locked it into the glove box.  He’s been doing well, and hopefully after another two months of milking this cow, he’ll be able to hire a second hand, too. He contemplates who he could bring aboard, completely lost in thought as he scrubbed dishes and rinsed the cooktop.

Shimada has his attention dragged back to reality by a gentle knocking.  A man’s face is at the window, holding a hat to his chest and staring at the pans hanging on the back wall.  

“Howdy!”

Hanzo approached slowly and slid the screen behind the daily menu board.  He accumulated the rest of his hair into a fist to begin retying the printed ribbon around his greasy, sweaty strands.  This man has leather skin, matted dust for hair, and a trim beard framing a chapped smile. He’s wearing a thick red scarf, draped around his shoulders like a cape, and Hanzo noticed one set of knuckles glow with tiny LEDs.

“I closed half an hour ago, sorry,” Shimada said.

“I kinda realized given the time and all…  I only just got off work down the road and I was hoping for somethin’ hot to eat.  I was hoping maybe I’d be lucky enough to take some of your leftovers or…” the cowboy trails off, taking his eyes from the pans down to the empty tip jar.  His face glowed red under the blinking neon in the window.

“I haven’t thrown anything out yet, I suppose.”

As the red ramen bowl blinks to a bright blue character, so does this stranger’s face illuminate.  He squeezes his hat, then puts it on top of his head to complete the look of an estranged Texan.

“Don’t have to make it fancy.  I **am** sorry for bothering you this late, but goddamn, I appreciate it just fine, sir,” he buzzed.

Hanzo hesitated, grunted, and turned away.  He left a flash of disappointment over the customer’s face, and he remembered his brother’s warning about his apathetic pout.  

Shimada substitutes mushrooms and tofu for the protein, tosses in some smaller and patched bell peppers, a handful of shredded carrots, and dumps a cup of leftover rice into the wok.  It finished very quickly, with a cup of a custom sauce to mix in, and the chef placed the plastic bowl on the counter. The cowboy’s feet never moved an inch, eyes glistening and tongue drooling.  

“Here you are,” he said, scooting it forward with a pair of chopsticks on top.

The cowboy’s eyes glazed over to the tip jar, and he dropped down off his toes to start feeling desperately for his wallet.  Hanzo watches him, then shuts the screen door and turns off the neon sign.

“Whoa there partner, I’m lookin’ for where I stashed my credit card is all!  Gimme a second,” the customer said. Just staring at him flustered warmed up the chilly September evening.  Hanzo gave him another second, then started to pull the jars and bottles off the shelf and pack up for the drive home.  He thought he heard a stutter from the startled customer, and glanced up to see him thumbing through an empty wallet. He could have just stolen it off a Walmart shelf.

“It would be thrown away regardless.  I’d rather it go eaten, and my skills appreciated,” Shimada lied after a long pause.  He opened the window enough to pass the bowl through and took a moment to enjoy the heat that swelled in his chest over the cowboy’s tearful glee.

“That’s mighty kind of you, stranger.  Thank you,” he started, before Hanzo waved his hand to shoo him off.

Back in silence, with new dishes to wash, and more supplies to put away.  Hanzo takes the next hour to pack up, letting his hands go through the normal routine while his mind wanders.  Bills, rent, gas, groceries, the western store, supplies, dishes, cowboys, truck mileage, his brother, prosthetics, that illuminated fist, a new broom and mop, sparkling brown eyes, tears of joy, kissing, warmth, prickling beard hairs, intimacy…  He stopped his thoughts there, as he opened the front door of his home. His truck was concealed underneath a tarp, and a wooden fence enclosed the property to assure no one could see it. Paranoia never dies.

Hanzo prepared himself for bed so he can wake early and set up for the brunch rush.  Shimada relished the warmth of the too-hot shower head on cool nights like these, with steam seeping into his tense and tender muscles.  What an exhausting and rewarding job he’d chosen for himself. He drip-dried tonight, applying lotion to his scars and electing to take extra time to prune his beard back to neat, sharp angles, clip his dead ends, and lotion the dark circles under his eyes.  He shut the light off and stretched into the empty dent in his bed, satisfied at how he’s managed to work his own personal shape into the used mattress and provide his own warmth. He’s content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.


	2. ACT 2

Hanzo plopped into a plastic chair with a spatula in one hand and a rag in the other, polishing the grime off after another successful meal.  He tossed it into the sink to rinse,  then folded both hands behind his head and leaned into them.  He recalled the glory of his youth, and how little he actually had now: just his home, his truck, and his recipes.  He would walk wherever he needed to get on his off days, and his body gradually thanked him for it. He used to have such developed muscles from the constant need to be in motion, he used to spend so much of his time climbing and lifting and working with his bow and his sword, but now, when he wasn’t stirring pots, he was sleeping.

The bell on the edge rang, and a young college face warmed the window.  Hanzo pulled himself to his feet and drew a smile on his lips before facing her, dusting his hands off on his apron.

“What can I do for you, miss?” he asked.

“Can I have an extra sized order of chicken soba, please?” she asked, rocking from her heels to her toes.

“My portions are already large?” Hanzo said.  He definitely didn’t think she looked big enough for two helpings.

“I know, I just wanted to make sure I’d have enough to share with my mother when I get home,” the student said, already looking guilty for her request.

Hanzo raised his hand and nodded, then turned back to his kitchen.  He has a bowl of morning prepwork ready, scooping out an extra handful of sliced chicken thighs, marinated for several hours, and dropped them onto the flat cooktop.  Onions, garlic, ginger, sizzling on the hot steel. He used two long rectangular spatulas to toss, flip, and turn the meat. Shimada tossed a handful of flour dusted noodles into the strainer basket of a pot of boiling water.  He prepped two bowls, each with an equal portion of noodles, broth, and meticulously placed toppings. He even thought to arrange the bowls into a bag with two sets of chopsticks.

Hanzo set the bag on the windowsill and slid back the screen door.  He wiped the grease from his fingers on his apron.

“Ten-fifty,” he said calmly.  She glanced up at the menu, as he knew she would, to realize he sliced the price of the second bowl for her.  The college student graciously places a twenty and a handful of coins into Hanzo’s palm and slides a fiver from the change to the tip jar.

“Thank you so much!  Your soba are the best I’ve ever had, Shimada-sama.” 

Another smiling face turning away to enjoy a warm meal.  Another compliment to the ever-growing pool of phrases that ceased lifting Hanzo’s spirits.  He slumped back into his chair to clean the sweat from his forehead and glanced lazily at the cooktop to clean.  Shimada took another few free minutes to enjoy the peace and quiet. He heard the birds chirping on the powerlines above, with the familiar song of a sparrow to send his meditation homeward.  Even seven months after the fight, he still thinks of his brother frequently. 

“Howdy!” came a familiar voice from outside.

Hanzo got up quickly and made his way to the window, fixing his bun calmly.

“Back again so soon?” he asked.

“Yeah, I had a complaint actually,” the cowboy started.  His giddy expression betrayed his intent.

“Oh?” Shimada cooed.

“I found a uh, a fishhook in it.  In my rice.”

“Go on,” Hanzo said.

“And it reeled me all the way back in for more,” the southerner said with a twinkle.  He glanced up at the menu board quickly, then ordered with confidence. “Sake oh-ya-KOO-dawn.”

“ _ Sake oyakodon _ ?” Hanzo mimicked his accent.

“Yeah.  I love salmon!” he said excitedly.

“And you can handle salmon roe?” Hanzo asked.  The cowboy appreciated his playful tone and winked. With a light chuckle, the cook peeled away back to the kitchen to start.  He only placed it on the menu card on Fridays, when he could pick up the eggs from the market. His hands worked just as smoothly as the first time he prepared this  _ mother-and-child _ dish.  His mother taught him this recipe, and he could feel her hands guiding his as he sliced the salmon into bite-sized  _ sashimi _ .   Shimada mixed the fish on the side with everything else unique about his mother’s recipe and placed each spoonful into the cowboy’s bowl meticulously.  He lined the beads of the red roe into the shape of a cartoon fish. He snapped the lid on and slid it onto the counter.

Before he could announce the total, the customer slapped two twenties onto the counter proudly.  Hanzo stared at it, then squinted at the cowboy. 

“Keep it.  It’ll cover the other night, too, right?  Plus extra,” he said confidently.

Shimada couldn’t argue, and he cashes the money out and slides the change into the tip jar.  

“You know,” he started, staring down at the bowl.  Hanzo leaned in to stare at the bemused curl of his lips.  “I never knew what roe was, really.” 

“Try it now.  For such a generous customer, I will prepare you something else if you do not enjoy it,” Hanzo offered.  He was certainly curious.

Shimada folded his arms onto the counter and leaned onto them, almost doubled over with his legs absorbing the free space in the truck.  The cowboy popped the lid off and snapped the chopsticks apart. He spent an awful long time trying to line them up in his fingers and not a lot of time with food clutched between them.  In dead silence, he eventually scooped up a bite with a good chunk of roe and salmon, and chewed it thoughtfully. 

Hanzo snorted at his face as an egg popped on his tongue, shooting flames through the cowboy’s cheeks and earning him an indignant glare.

“What do you think, sir?”

“Thankful it’s as good as last time.  Better, even,” he said, going in for a second bite.  “You’re a mighty fine chef, Hanzo.”

“Thank you,” he said.  The cook thought about the last compliment he’d received, and wondered why this stranger’s felt so much more uplifting.  He reached back to fiddle with the loose hairs at the base of his hairline. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“McCree,” he said around a mouthful of rice.  “Jesse McCree.”

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Jesse,” Hanzo said as he finally stood upright, cracked his back, and wiped his hands onto his apron.

“You too, Hanzo,” Jesse said back, chopsticks hanging out of his mouth as he reached up to tip his hat and wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> Sake oyakodon - also called salmon ikura donburi - a bowl of rice with salmon (mother) and salmon roe/fish eggs (child) on top  
> Sashimi - raw fish, sliced into bite-sized pieces


	3. ACT 3

The smell of smoke and singed hair burned Hanzo’s nostrils as he collapsed into the driver’s seat to breathe.  He was always so careful, so at ease, he never expected someone such as  **his** dignified self could accidentally set fire to his kitchen.  Too much grease accumulated beneath one of the burners, and he was a single order of fried rice away from disaster.  He regretfully returned the customer’s money, offered them a discount on a noodle bowl, and shut the truck down for a more thorough cleaning.  He used the side mirror to look at his ruined beard and damaged ribbon, and sent a quiet thanks for leaving him--and his truck--otherwise unscathed.

Hanzo ripped everything apart to tear at with a wire brush.  He had knobs and rings and steel cluttered all over the truck as he walked down the street to pick up a fresh bottle of soap and a new set of scrubbers.  The chilly October air relaxed the tension in his face, and Shimada utilized his hike back to admire the crisp leaves clinging to the trees. 

He got back to his top-down clean-up, rinsing everything thrice over cautiously, when someone knocked on the outside of his truck.  He ignored it, and a few minutes later, received another. He reluctantly lifted up the curtain and slid the screen apart to see Jesse McCree with his thumbs in his belt loops and his wide scarf pulled up over his chin.  

“Howdy, Hanzo!” he called.

“I’m closed for the evening,” Shimada said.

“Ain’t it a Saturday?  I passed by three people bitchin’ about you bein’ closed during their usual time.”

“I had an incident that I am now cleaning up.  It will take me until my typical closing hour to finish,” Hanzo said.  What an unlucky day for a catastrophe like this. He grabbed the screen door and pulled it shut; McCree quickly thrusted his hand in between it and the wall, prepared with a pout to flash at Hanzo.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he rushed.

“Four hours for a bowl of rice?” Hanzo asked.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be  **rice** …” Jesse started.  Hanzo stared at him and that warm, toothy smile.  

“If I make you a bowl of ramen, will you let me finish cleaning?” Shimada said finally.

“That, and I’ll make sure everybody I pass is aware of your premature shut down for the evening.”

“Fine,” the cook said, and the cowboy let him shut the screen door at last.  

On a normal day, Hanzo would have a stock pot of miso warm and prepared for any bowl of ramen ordered.  He decided to prepare a small serving from scratch instead of reheat leftovers, stirring the pot whenever he checked on the noodles.  He served two plastic bowls an even quantity of ramen, broth, grilled pork cutlets, a half a soft-boiled egg, a pinch of bean sprouts, and a pinch of mushrooms.  

Hanzo opened the back door to the truck and shouts for McCree to come inside.  The cowboy came in, looking baffled, and followed the chef to the front of the vehicle.  He took the passenger seat, eying the hand-painted paper screen covering the windshield, before looking to Hanzo.

Shimada offered Jesse one of the bowls and a pair of chopsticks, then seated himself in the driver’s chair.

“This is phenomenal,” McCree said over a mouthful of meat.  

Hanzo ate carefully and quickly.  He kept glancing up at his lunchmate, noticing the broth draining from his beard to his chest, and self-consciously wondered if he were just as messy.  

“Thank you for that, Hanzo,” he said, lowering the empty bowl.

“I admit, sharing lunch was nice,” Shimada responded.

“What do I owe ya, sir?” Jesse winked.

“Nothing, of course.”

“No, really.  How much do you charge for one of these?  Privileges or no, I’m still a customer,” McCree said flatly.

“Five.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Jesse said.  He fished his wallet out of his pocket and offered Hanzo a twenty dollar bill.  He stared at it, then stood up. Shimada collected his trash and the money, tossing the empty take-out to the garbage and popped the cashbox open.  McCree tried to slide past him, back out the ass end of the truck.

“Jesse, your change,” Hanzo said with two bills held slightly askew.

“Keep it.  A tip, for your kindness and hospitality.  And to cover the harassment charges.”

Though he was staring at the cowboy’s ass-end, he swore he heard a wink with that.  Hanzo let him go.

What an odd character.  Shimada had a few regulars to his truck, usually a mix between college students and officeworkers.  His favorite customers tended towards other people from Japan, with familiar conversations in his native tongue about the recipes and where he learned food from.  But this man kept coming in with a heatwave on his heels, boiling the emptiness in Hanzo’s chest and leaving him light on his feet.

He finished cleaning the dishes from his lunch and went back to his first task.  His brother Genji always had a different partner every weekend, when they lived at home.  A new girlfriend for the party, a new boyfriend to sleepover. Never at home, always out, always alive, he was so alive.  Hanzo had hated him back then, for reasons he regretted now. Occasionally, the cook wondered if his relationship with his brother would have been mendable if he had taken the time to understand him.  Was he jealous of Genji’s promiscuity, or of something else?

“And more importantly,” Hanzo thought aloud to the glossy steel cooktop, “why am I seeing Jesse’s face in this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Delay in the updating schedule due to the release of Kingdom Hearts 3. Bear with me, there's more on the way!


End file.
